


Sangria Wine

by TheBlueHare



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Going Abroad, June sherlock challenge, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Smutty, Some Plot, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueHare/pseuds/TheBlueHare
Summary: “I want to go where the winters are warm My!” Gregory had exclaimed not a month ago. “Im tired of this blasted cold and insufferable …”“I thought you were quite accustomed to dealing with my dear baby brother?” Mycroft had cut in hoping to derail Gregory’s course. Sadly, to no avail.“Winter” Gregory had finished with a pointed look.





	Sangria Wine

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Sherlock Challenge June 2018 on tumblr. Loosely inspired by the song Sangria Wine by Camilla Cabello and Pharrell Williams. 
> 
> Enjoy!!
> 
> As usual comments are always welcomed! Thank you for reading =]!

The blasted thing is 150 million kilometers away for god’s sake! Oh how Mycroft hates the sun. He hates the way it makes his skin crawl with heat till it feels like it will boil off. He hates the way it makes his perfectly tailored suits feel all of the sudden too tight, too warm, even tho they’re made of the best possible fabrics which his personal tailor assures him are completely _breathable._ He hates that apparently the sun is the center of the universe and thus he, _THE Mycroft Holmes,_ is forced upon with its presence every summer. And as if that wasn’t enough, his beloved Gregory, Gregory who always does his best to placate Mycroft’s moods and caters to his every whim has been seduced by the damn thing!

He loathes it. 

“I want to go where the winters are warm My!” Gregory had exclaimed not a month ago. “Im tired of this blasted cold and insufferable …”

“I thought you were quite accustomed to dealing with my dear baby brother?” Mycroft had cut in hoping to derail Gregory’s course. Sadly, to no avail.

“W _inter_ ” Gregory had finished with a pointed look. “Im tired of it and I want to go somewhere warm on holiday, _this_ holiday”

Being the British Government has its small set of advantages, Mycroft supposes. After all, it had only taken three phone calls to arrange their short leave, eight minutes in total.  One to Gregory’s superior to inform him of Gregory’s upcoming absence from The Yard- (one minute), one to his tailor to arrange for a set of adequate suits for the (blasted) warm weather - (three minutes), and lastly, one to Anthea with instructions to follow during his absence and his demands for the trip- (four minutes). 

To his equal surprise and dismay Gregory had chosen Miami as their holiday destination. He shuddered at the idea of beaches full of loud and ridiculous tourists with their umbrellas and screaming children. Mycroft can see the last sun rays from his bed, bleeding orange into the terra-cotta veranda, he can hear the ocean roll away though the open French doors of their secluded villa. He can smell the sun cream that’s plastered on his entire body and…

“ _ooohhhh_ ”

Mycroft can’t think of anything else as Greg’s tongue presses against his quivering entrance, tongue flat and wet. Mycroft tilts his head back, knees and hands splayed on the plush bed. Gregory lets out a low moan of approval, both hands greedily kneading the curve of Mycroft’s arse, spreading him apart. Mycroft can feel the heated blush appearing on his cheeks even as he pushes back, arching and presenting himself to take in more of Gregory’s glorious mouth and tongue. Greg correctly takes Mycroft’s actions as encouragement and takes full advantage of his momentum to push past the tight ring of muscles with his tongue. Mycroft is sure the loud moan that scapes past his parted lips can be heard for miles down the beach but he can’t bring himself to care. Not now as Gregory is pushing in and out of him, delicious heat rocking through him at a slow and glorious pace. 

All too soon, just as Mycroft thinks Greg’s onslaught is about to speed up, Gregory’s mouth is gone and before Mycroft has the presence of mind to make his dissatisfaction known one of Gregory’s fingers slips pass. And oh god this is so much better. Mycroft pushes back instinctively seeking more, trying to fuck himself on Greg’s finger. 

“Yes, sweetheart. What do you want?” Those words, moaned into Mycroft’s ears are pure lust dripping down his spine and pooling low at the base of belly. Mycroft is now fully aware of his hard cock bobbing proud and pink between his legs as he tries to fuck himself on Greg’s hand. Greg stills, keeping his finger still inside Mycroft. It’s maddening. 

“What. Do. You. Want. Mycroft? Tell me sweetheart, how do you wan it?” Greg bites down on his ear at the last word. Pain shooting straight down to Mycroft’s cock and making it twitch with anticipation. 

“I WANT YOU IN ME! NOW GREGORY! I WANT YOUR BIG FAT COCK IN ME TILL I CAN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE BUT MOAN YOUR NAME!!! Mycroft practically whimpers and tries again to buck into Gregory’s hand. 

“God’s yes!!” Greg loves it when Mycroft, the ever composed, the so called Ice Man moans such deliciously obscene demands for him. 

“Gregory-! Mycroft’s only warning is the fleeting sensation of something cool dripping down his arse before he feels Greg’s cock sliding into him with a growl. And oh god it feels so good. In one smooth motion Greg is pulling him back by the hips and pushing forward into him. “O _h god, sweetheart you feel so good. Im gonna break you off proper tonight love_ ” Greg pants the words into the back of Mycroft’s neck, hot breath sending shivers down to his bones. Greg wraps one arm around Mycroft’s waist and the other under his chest and begins to roughly move his hips, shoving himself in and out of Mycroft’s body at a fast pace. 

Mycroft loves this, the way Greg’s weight feels on top of him, the way their combined sweat makes their bodies slide on top of one another. How Greg feels needy and possessive all at once. For him. He, Mycroft Holmes had reduced Gregory Lastrade, Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard to a wanton mess and by the gods above if it isn’t the most arousing thing in the world. The obscene sound of their skin slapping together as Greg rocks into him sends him over the edge. He’s being thrusted forward every time Greg pushes in and out of him, fucking him into the mattress, Mycroft’s cock is leaking pre-come, hard to the point of almost being painful. 

Mycroft takes Gregory’s hand off his chest and leads it to his aching cock. “Oh god yes _!”_ Greg lets out a moan in response and starts to stroke down the length of Mycroft’s erection. Mycroft cant’ help closing his yes, concentrating on the sensation of Greg’s cock matching the rhythm of his hand. A shower of stars sprays down Mycroft’s eyes and all he sees is white as Greg hits his prostate. Followed by a string of filthy moans as Greg repeatedly shoves in and out hitting the same spot over and over.  Mycroft’s orgasm crashes over him like a tidal wave of pure heat and pleasure and Greg fucks him through it slowly, riding down the waves, so much that it makes Mycroft writhe with pure pleasure. As Mycroft starts to come down from the aftershocks of his orgasm Gregory speeds up and rocks into him until his shouting Mycroft’s name through his own wave of heat and release. 

Mycroft can feel the sated smile on Gregory’s lips as he leans down to kiss him on the cheek and maneuver them both on their side, legs feeling like jelly. “I rather like the smell of sun cream on you” Greg half whispers at his back, placing a wet sloppy kiss on his shoulder blade and wrapping himself around Mycroft like an octopus. “We should travel abroad more often”

“Hmmm” is all Mycroft can muster as a sleepy reply.

And for once Mycroft thinks that maybe the sun isn’t such a tiresome thing after all. 


End file.
